“Honestly, I don't know what this is.” I move my drink around in the space between us. If that wasn’t the perfect opening for pursuing my goal, I don’t know what is. “What is this?”
“Two people who just met having a drink together? Two strangers getting to know each other as the sun goes down? Two humans who may or may not fancy each other?”
Despite the fireworks of delight that shoot off inside me, I simply nod at that. “I think I might fancy you,” I confess.
“I think I might fancy you too.” He smiles. “Does that mean I might get to kiss you?”
I'm torn when I hear the wordkissleave his lips. On one hand, it feels like a flower blooming in the desolate pit of my stomach. On the other hand, it's not a flower I love although it's undeniably pretty and fragrant.Kissis too small and tame for what I want. Because what I really want to hear leave his mouth are different words, likelick,taste,suck,bite, fuck.
“I might need one more drink before that,” I say, not because it's true - another sugary mocktail isn't going to get me any more pliant than I already am - but just because I want to make this last, this part of the experience; the talking, the flirting, the looking at each other under the now purple and grey hues of a twilight sky. Even if our destination is sex, I still want to enjoy the journey.
He jumps into action, launching his body upright and grabbing my glass. “On it like a car bonnet,” he says before looking down at me, pulling his brows forward. “Do you want cock... or mock?”
I clutch my chest and giggle like someone's tickling me. “Oh, I want cock, but I'll settle for a mock to keep you company.”
“Oh, Jenna.” He shakes his head, looking at the ground. “I'm sure there's an opening for an equally filthy reply but I am too flustered to find it.”
“I hope that's not a warning of what’s to come,” I say, with a deliberately appalled look. “Also, pretty sure that was already filthy enough. You did say ‘opening’, after all.”
“You're right. I sometimes don't know how good I am... Andthat,pretty lady, was your warning. Don't go anywhere.”
And I don't. I sit there, squeezing my legs together, doing more spontaneous squeezes of my pelvic floor muscles, and stretching my mouth into the widest grin that’s physically possible. Suddenly self-conscious, I look around and see some of the other couples and groups have left, and I am relieved considering we’ve been sitting front and centre of them all. I adjust my dress and my hair a few times and find my phone in my bag to check my reflection with the camera.
I wouldn't say I look my best. I'm make-up-free, my freckles are darker than ever in the dusky light, and my hair is still all tangled thanks to not brushing it since I swam in the sea earlier, but I also like what I see because I look relaxed and I look excited, two looks I haven’t seen much on my features recently. Before I tuck my phone back in my bag, it buzzes.
It's a notification from a dating app.
“Please not a dick pic. Please not a dick pic. Please not a dick pic,” I whisper to myself as I open up the app.
There I see that someone has liked my profile, and after a quick glance at Marty at the bar, I look back down at Nathan, 38, from Surbiton, a Chartered Surveyor, Football Fanatic and Avid Skier. Yes, with the words all capitalised. I swipe past the obligatory suited-and-booted-for-a-wedding photo to try and gauge what he really looks like in his other photos, but there’s only one more where I can actually see his full face and body.
And it's almost worse than a dick pic. It's a picture of him holding up a fish while topless.
I groan as I put my phone away. It's a horrible jolt from home and a reminder of what awaits me there. It's also a reminder that whatever is happening with Marty, I need to grab it - and possibly him - by the balls. I look up to see him getting closer as he walks back with two drinks that look different from our last.
“So, I figured it was time for a Blur Job.” He hands me another glass that has three layers of colour – rich brown at the bottom, a layer of an off-white liquid, and then some whipped cream on top. “We have a shot of coffee instead of Baileys, a layer of coconut milk on top of that, and finally some whipped cream and of course, a cherry on top. It's not going to be as good as the real thing but tastes delicious all the same.”
“Are you talking about the cocktail?” I ask, giggles eager to burst out of me.
“Or the cock?” he finishes.
“That was too easy.” I laugh as I take the glass.
“I generally am.” He winks.
I wave my hand around and try to slow my laughter. “Okay, I need the brakes back on. You move too fast for me.”
“Oh, I can go slow if you want, Jenna.” He sits back down and then lowers his voice as he leans toward me. “Really, really, really slow and really, really...”
“Hmm,” I cut him off. I close my eyes as a shiver runs down my whole body and a small moanleaves my lips. Only as I open my eyes again do I realise that was a better response than any words because when I see how he’s looking at me - lips parted, eyes dark and wide - he looks like he finally ran out of words. I revel in this small win that I suspect will only spur him on. Even so, I’m taken aback by what he says next.
“You're a fucken work of art,” he says in that deep Irish drawl and from the expression he has, all crinkled eyebrows, matching dimples, and generous eyes, I almost believe that that's what he really thinks.
As if he’s just realised what he’s said, he turns away, muttering something under his breath that I don’t catch as he busies himself looking in his bag. I don’t ask him to repeat himself but I wonder if it’s a quick apology. Not that he needs to. He doesn’t need to be embarrassed for flirting so outrageously with me. It’s all fun and games - fun and games that are going to lead me to get exactly what I want later, I hope.
As he continues to search in his bag, I push up a little and look around us. Now the sun has gone, the crowd has dissipated even more. There are plenty of free tables and the music being played has shifted tempo to a quicker, heavier beat. I think about suggesting we move to a table but realise then I’m actually very happy where I am, pretending that the rest of the world doesn't exist.
I settle back into the lounger and look at him again. His bag is back on the ground and he’s now staring out at the sea with a contemplative look on his face. With my mission firmly in mind, I pick up our conversation again.
